


Selcouth

by gryffindormischief



Series: Fresh Pickled Toad [30]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29767905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryffindormischief/pseuds/gryffindormischief
Summary: The morning is a dance like the night before, new and yet the same. Strange but always theirs.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Series: Fresh Pickled Toad [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/441613
Comments: 12
Kudos: 83





	Selcouth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fightfortherightsofhouseelves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightfortherightsofhouseelves/gifts).



> AH A post has not happened in so long and THIS, an update to fresh pickled toad?? I meant to only be doing some get rolling 500 count drabbles for augabragð but here we are. I hope you enjoy my very immature play on words/joke

Ginny wakes with one numb arm, slightly sweaty, and sore in some ways she’s not quite used to. The latter is particularly strange because Ginny’s quidditch passion - obsession if you ask Molly Weasley - has lead to strained and overworked muscles in what Ginny thought was every area of her body.

But this is different. Her fingers skate over her bare skin beneath the sheet while her mind trips through memories of the night before. When explorations that she and Harry usually ended with hands or bashful excuses - she the former, Harry the latter - finally culminated in a slightly fumbling but ultimately blissful experience.

Now though, his space in the bed is empty and his t-shirt and pants are gone so she can’t even be adorable and wear his oversized clothes to pad around his flat. Unless she raids his wardrobe which she is not above doing in the name of a cozy and slightly cliche morning - late late morning.

A quick scan of the room leads her to the sparsely filled rack over the door between Harry’s bedroom and the ensuite. His towel is dry and so is the cozy quilted dressing gown he picked out in Harrods last January. He wanted one before that, she begged him to buy one before that. But he, in a peak fit of adorably frustrating and slightly sad Harry, would not ask for one, but also would not buy one for fear he would receive one just by accidental happenstance. After a minor argument that culminated in a “too violent” snowball fight - again, Molly Weasley’s words - Ginny said she would just get him one.

But that would be like he asked for it, and gifts are expensive and, again Ginny wanted to both cuddle and smack him because he could be so sad and so infuriating at the very same time. They finally reached a detente, a gentleman’s agreement, what have you, when Ginny made him swear if he did not receive a dressing gown they would go to Harrods for the post holiday sales and pick one out along with some new trousers because...partly she wanted to make him try on clothes that let her stare at his bum, but mostly he needed them.

He was firmly in adorable Harry mode when he picked out the robe. It’s just shy of full on grandpa territory, a little old timey but made of warm cozy dark grey cotton and quilted so it really keeps out the chill. Once she slips it over her shoulders and enjoys the ghost of Harry’s woodsy scent, Ginny admits privately this is a supremely comfortable garment and if she didn’t think he’d just shiver and not buy a replacement, Ginny would consider stealing it, all pleasantly broken in as it is.

After a quick freshening of breath and throwing some water on her sleep flushed face, Ginny wanders the few steps it takes to get from the bedroom to the living area of the flat, following first the scent of crisping bacon and later the sound of Harry’s low, scratchy, and off key singing.

It’s a tune she knows, at least somewhere in the recesses of her clogged brain, but she doesn’t place it until the lyrics finally click. Which just so happens to be when she lingers in the doorway to the kitchen and catches Harry bouncing his hips back and forth warbling, “He got off, he got off - he - got - off,” the last instance punctuated with sharp juts of his shoulders.

Ideally, she’d have gotten to enjoy a few verses of Harry’s impromptu concert but it’s too early and he is too stupidly adorable for her to hold back her surprised laughter.

The sound echoes loud and sudden in the quiet flat and Harry turns around swiftly, frying pan in hand, “Gin!”

His eyes are soft as he takes in her face and sleep mussed hair, only darkening when they drop to her oversized and loosely tied robe. “Morning.”

Even after last night, he still turns into a bashful thing, cheeks flushing and words stuttered as he turns back and the bacon resumes its intensifying sizzle. 

Ginny moves closer, one hand skating up his arm. Her rosy cheeks don’t answer his until she finds the purpling mark she left just behind his ear. Not that she’s never done so before or been on the receiving end of one of his little lingering gifts, but she can recall quite vividly the moment she nipped his salty skin, fingers grasping at his arms while they finally finally finally slipped into a rhythm together. Her eyes go glassy as she recalls him burying his face in her neck, remembers her lips searching for any bit of him they could touch, lips and then apparently teeth. She caught herself off guard with the nip, but not as much as Harry’s pleased groan did. 

“Ah- shit.”

She shakes the revery from her mind and suddenly the stove’s off and Harry’s half naked.

Ginny’s a little breathless when she gasps, “Why did you take your shirt off?”

Harry grimaces and flips the shirt until a wide golden stain shows against the white fabric. “Hot grease, not fun,” then he apparently notices her searching gaze and smirks, “Why? Does my being half-naked bother you?”

He sets the pan on a cool burner and tosses his shirt aside, apparently ready to do his new little ‘I can wait all day’ auror face and Ginny was surprised before but now she’s in it to win. Win what? She’s not sure but she absolutely will.

“No, I was just admiring my handiwork, and enjoying your morning concert,” Ginny lets the end of her response hang in the air, gaze level and oh so innocent. Harry only takes a few seconds to catch on and then his face is red as Mum’s tomatoes.

“I just woke up and that song - is it even a song? - was stuck in my head,” Harry explains, ruffling his hair. 

Ginny saunters closer and wraps her arms around his waist. She rises on tiptoe so she can retread the line of his jaw with her lips and murmur against his ear. “Well you did, didn’t you?”

Now her fingers ruffle his hair, nails scratch lightly against his scalp. He sighs and draws her closer so her toes nearly stand atop his feet. “In fact I did - in a much more enjoyable way, I have to admit.”

His hands loosen the knot at her waist and skate over her bare skin, goosebumps rising in the wake of his touches and Ginny sighs in appreciation. Soon his lips are on her neck and all she can do is drop her head back and hope her legs stay underneath her. 

Until her eyes crack open and her gaze lands on the counter. “Are those fresh scones?”

Harry, who had been swaying into her in either the beginnings of a sequel to last night is a bit caught off guard, understandably. It takes a moment for him to cotton on and then his face is buried in her shoulder, another recall of last night. Though this time his shoulders vibrate with laughter instead of withheld passion. “Are you kidding - you know. I should not be surprised.”

Ginny feels a grin rising on her lips, “What? They look amazing!”

“We were both feeling something that was working up to amazing,” Harry says with a snort, smacking a few kisses along her neck, then sighing.

She pats the back of his head with long strokes and he slumps against her, forearms resting on the countertop on either side of her waist. “Yes, Harry, but you worked so hard on those scones.”

“Don’t tell Ron, because it’s very important to him, but I think you are the hungriest Weasley.”

Ginny smacks a kiss on his smiling lips and ducks under his arm, only to offer a cheeky wink over her shoulder as she beelines for the scones. “Yes, and in more ways than one, right?”


End file.
